Chapter 7
It works. The plan works.
Tessa sent the link Thursday evening, and by Friday morning, the fan account shared it. The video went viral within the hour. By Sunday night, the original post had half a million likes, with nearly three million views across various platforms.
By Monday, mainstream entertainment accounts were picking it up—even You Oughta Know reposted it, and the conversation shifted. People stopped dissecting the podcast and started sharing the video instead.
Did it bury River’s podcast interview? No, but I wasn’t expecting it to. What it did is remind people why they like Bailey. She comes from nothing, and she made it anyway. The video’s whole job was to remind people of that—and it did.
There’s been no retaliation from River. But I don’t think that will last long—not with freaking Luke Wilder in charge.
Now I’m sitting at Common Ground after work, in a corner table facing the door, waiting for my coffee date to arrive.
There aren’t a lot of people here, since it’s only an hour until closing, so it’s eerily quiet, except for some chatting from employees in the back.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air.
It’s the guy I swiped right on last week while I was hiding in the bathroom. I had half a mind to cancel, since I did that swiping in a state of panic, but I figured, what the heck. Another step toward kiss number fifty.
Except he’s five minutes late. I have a hard-and-fast rule that fifteen minutes late is all I’ll allow.
And that allotment is mostly because of California traffic, because no one is safe from that.
I’m not some kind of drill sergeant, but when you’ve gone on as many dates as I have, you learn to use your time wisely.
“Claire?” a man who bears some resemblance to Bryce, with brown eyes and a lot less blond hair on his head than was advertised, asks.
I smile. “You must be Bryce,” I say.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says. “Parking was hard to find.”
Oh, right. That’s the other reason I give people fifteen minutes. Especially in this area of town where parking is limited to expensive garages or a spot on the street that’s nearly impossible to find.
He sits down across from me, placing a slim briefcase on the floor next to his chair and his phone face down on the table. He’s wearing a polo with a logo that says “ZenFuel” on it. I’m guessing he came here from work as well.
I took off the jacket of my navy-blue trouser suit because it was hot outside, but I still look too dressed up for this kitschy coffee shop with its mismatched but somehow stylish furniture and the colorful art on the wall.
“So,” he says, giving me a bright smile. It makes his eyes crinkle at the sides, which is kind of endearing.
“So,” I echo, returning the smile. “Should we grab a drink?” I point to the empty coffee bar behind us.
He looks at the bar and then back at me, his smile falling slightly. “I’m good,” he says. “But feel free to grab something. I can’t do caffeine after five. It messes with my sleep.”
“Oh, well, there are other things on the menu,” I say. “Do you want a cookie or something?”
He looks at the watch on his wrist. “I actually need to make this short,” he says. “I’ve got another meeting in an hour and a half, and it’s on the other side of town.”
Another . . . meeting?
“Okay,” I say, my spidey sense tingling.
“Do you want to grab something, or should we get started?” he asks.
Get started? For a date?
“I’m . . . good,” I tell him. I’m not sure I want to prolong this by ordering a drink. He has another “meeting,” after all.
As far as the start to a date, this could be in the running for the weirdest one.
And I once had a guy ask me straight out of the gate if I thought the moon landing was staged because that was a deal-breaker for him.
I don’t, but that night I sure did. Needless to say, he was not any of my forty-nine first kisses.
“Great,” he says. “So, tell me a little about yourself, Claire.”
“Sure,” I say, not trying to mask the apprehension I’m feeling in my tone. “I work in PR. Just down the street from here, actually. And I live in NoHo.”
“Cool. I live in the Valley.” He gives me a thumbs-up, which is . . . odd.
“Good place to live,” I say. “What do you do for work?”
He points to the logo on his shirt. “ZenFuel.”
“Right,” I say with a quick nod. Silly me.
“So.” He places his elbows on the table, leaning in toward me. “Tell me about your health goals.”
Huh?
I’m just about to ask him what the heck he’s talking about when the door opens and in walks . . . Luke.
Crap.
I mostly avoid this place during work hours, sending Tessa to grab my coffee. But I figured after work I’d be safe from running into him. No such luck. Because of course he’s here right now.
He gives me an eyebrow raise, his face asking What are you doing here? And I give him None of your business wide eyes.
He walks to the counter, where a barista he knows by name (of course) takes his order.
I focus back on my date. “Um . . . my health goals?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Like, what are you doing right now to take care of your body?”
So, this is a first.
“Well, I do a lot of walking for my job,” I say. But truthfully, it’s mostly pacing in my office. I get my heart rate up, but it’s usually from stress, not exercise. Shoot. I might need to add a workout to my daily routine if I don’t want to end up like Simone.
“That’s good; walking is great for you,” he says.
“What . . . are your health goals?” Asking seems like the polite thing to do, even though I have zero interest in his answer.
“I’m in the best shape of my life,” he says, sticking out his chest, just a touch.
I mean, he looks trim, for sure. There are some decent biceps bunching up the sleeves of his polo. And his forearms are quite sinewy.
Oh no. Am I out with a gym bro? It’s usually an automatic no for me when I see a guy flexing in front of a mirror, gym equipment behind him. I must have really been off my game when I was swiping last week.
“That’s . . . great for you,” I say.
“That wasn’t always the case, though. I found something that completely changed things for me,” he says.
Then he picks up his briefcase and pulls out some papers. He places them on the table in front of me. The top sheet says “ZenFuel Wellness Partner—Income Opportunity Overview.”
Ah. It’s all clicking now. I’m not on a date; this is a multilevel marketing presentation.
I’ve heard about this happening—MLMers using dating sites to find potential people to add to their downline—but this is a first for me.
“Is this a business presentation?” I ask him, even though it clearly is.
He gives me a big smile. “It’s more of an introduction to a ground-floor opportunity. ZenFuel has only been—”
I hold out a hand. “Let me stop you right there,” I say, cutting him off. “I’m definitely not interested.”
Luke gives me a little curious smirk as he passes by, cup in hand. He walks over to the other side of the coffee shop and takes a seat facing me, like he’s ready to watch a show.
“Really?” Bryce asks, as if this is the most shocking thing he’s ever heard. “You don’t want to know how you can easily hit your health goals by just taking one little pill?”
One little pill? Interesting . . . No, hold on, Claire. This is a scam. It’s never that easy.
“No, I don’t,” I say, shaking my head.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Bryce says, the crinkling around his eyes long gone. “I see this was a waste of time.”
“I’m afraid it was,” I say. I feel like I should say something about how tacky it is to use dating apps to recruit for your pyramid scheme, but honestly I don’t have the energy. But I will be reporting his profile.
He stands up and haphazardly shoves the papers back into his briefcase. He reaches in his pocket and sets a business card down on the table. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
I only give him a closed-mouth smile in response, and he stalks away and out the door.
“What was that about?” Luke asks from across the coffee shop once the door is shut. He gets up from his table and walks over to mine, taking Bryce’s empty seat without asking. Typical.
“I believe I was just asked to join an MLM,” I say.
“And did you?” he asks, with a questioning look.
“I’m considering it. It’s a ground-floor opportunity.”
He snorts out a laugh. “You should definitely get in on that, Arch.”
He settles into the chair as if he belongs there, which is so Luke. Right now I’m somewhere between admiring it and finding it insufferable.
“Where did you find that guy?”
“A dating site,” I say.
Luke’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a thing? MLM guys on dating sites?”
“It’s a first for me,” I tell him.
He chuckles. “That’s a lot of nerve. It’s almost impressive.”
“Right?”
“Do you do a lot of online dating?” he asks.
I shrug. “It’s all I have time for.”
“I get that,” he says. “I tried it for a while, but it never really worked for me.”
I’d love to tell him he’s missing out, but he just saw me on a “date” that was actually a business proposal, so I don’t think I’m the poster child for online romance.
“How do you meet anyone, then?” I ask, out of curiosity.
“Out in the wild, I guess,” he says. “It’s not really working for me either, though.”
Self-deprecating Luke is not one I’m used to. Cocky and self-important Luke is easy for me to handle. This all feels a little too cordial right now, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Luke has wreaked havoc in my life for the past two and a half weeks. I don’t think I want to get along with him.
His phone beeps, and he reaches into the pocket of his suit coat to grab it.
“My mom,” he says, pointing at the screen. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” I say, taken aback that he asked. It’s not like we’re in the middle of some deep life discussion. In fact, I should probably leave. I don’t need to be fraternizing with the enemy.
But I don’t leave. I watch as he quickly shoots a text back and then tucks the phone into his pocket.
“How’s your mom?” I ask. Only because it’s the nice thing to do. But also, I kind of want to know.
Back when he was at Harrow & Finch, we used to frequent this very coffee shop. Often discussing work, but sometimes, on more rare occasions, talking about life.
What I do know about Luke is that his dad died when he was five, and it’s just been him, his mom, and his younger sister ever since.
“She’s good,” he says. “Hasn’t changed much. Still fussing over how much I work.”
“Sounds familiar.” My mom and Gigi bring it up often. Not because I’m overworked—because it keeps me from settling down. Just like the curse does.
“My mom worries about your work schedule too?” he asks, his eyes wide in mock surprise.
“Shut up,” I say, chuckling.
Luke sitting across from me, teasing me . . . it all feels so familiar. I have to remind myself that he totally betrayed me.
“Nice move with getting that old video of Bailey to go viral, by the way,” he says before taking a sip of his drink.
I give him a shrug. “I had nothing to do with that. Just a happy accident.”
He shakes his head while smiling. “That had Claire Archer written all over it.”
I smile, despite trying not to. “There was some luck involved.”
There always is with PR. You can’t know if it will be the right post at the right time.
“That was all you,” he says. “You were always good at your job.”
I scoff. “Sure,” I say.
“I’m serious,” he says, the humor leaving his expression.
It takes me by surprise. Even when we were on good terms, Luke was more apt to tease me than compliment me.
But it also rankles. Am I good at this, or just lucky? Despite my warring feelings, a tiny bit of the animosity I’ve felt toward him since he walked away from Harrow & Finch dissipates.
“If you had listened to my voicemail, you wouldn’t be so shocked right now.”
“Not the voicemail again,” I say, really hating that I’m actually dying to know what it said at this point.
He looks at me over the top of his coffee cup.
“I’ve been debating whether I’m relieved or offended that you didn’t listen to it.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
“Jury’s still out,” he says.
I shake my head. “Well,” I say, standing up, “I’d say I look forward to seeing what you and River will do next, but that would be a lie.”
He winks. “You’re going to love it.”
And just like that, I’m annoyed with him again.